Sunday, Bloggy Sunday
Yesterday I found the ultimate in nerdy cable TV, the C-Span Book channel.
If middle age is exposed by wobbling jowls, wearing sensible shoes, eating more dietary fiber, listening to NPR and having to use Icy Hot after vigorous sex, watching Book TV is the ultimate geezer alert. I think I have finally arrived!
Yesterday they featured a panel discussion between authors/political pundits Al Franken, Molly Ivins and Bill O' Reilly. Al and Bill were having a pissing contest better than any tavern brawl in Cotula, Texas. Molly was actually the soothing voice of reason, which is sort of like Calamity Jane officiating a spat between Gandhi and The Dali Lama.
Through the day, many other authors discussed their upcoming books. Some were so dull in terms of historical minutiae about obscure battles between extinct countries that happened centuries ago, even Barcodie himself would ask who the hell cared.
Zoom ahead to my dinner date last night with la, back from the beach one day early.
Suffice it to say, she is the one woman in my long lesbian career who continually amazes me, confounds me, stands up to me, backs me down, props me up, soothes me, makes my head spin, frustrates me, confuses me, rocks my world, makes me laugh until I cry, and taps into every neurotransmitter that signals every nerve impulse across every synapse in my being.
She woke me up from a dream she had last night in the wee hours, and it made me laugh so hard the cats ran out of the room.
Although she is well-educated and quite comfortable financially, she has this mortal fear she will end up in her old age, pushing a crap-loaded shopping cart down the street, muttering gibberish to herself.
She dreamed that her shopping cart did not hold enough of her earthly possessions so she somehow acquired one of those square washateria carts so she could hitch it to her basket and put a chest of drawers in it for added capacity. Then she worried in her dream the drawers weren't going to be roomy enough.
The vision of her pushing that contraption down the street just gives a small glimpse of how her mind works. She's continually planning her shopping cart retirement plans, awake and now even when she dreams.
She's the only person I know whose insanity compliments my own so seamlessly.
All this time I'd been wondering how I'd stuff all my crap into my twin bike baskets once I got old enough for the cheese to slip off my cracker and I took to the open roads.
Now at least I may have the option of some extra drawer space in her washateria cart.
If she'll have me.